


Halani

by ShannaraIsles



Series: Ena'Vun: The Dawn Will Come [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Loneliness, Post-In Your Heart Shall Burn, Survival, The Dalish are not nancies, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 08:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11144976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannaraIsles/pseuds/ShannaraIsles
Summary: In which Velen escapes ruined Haven, with a little help from an unnamed friend. In Your Heart Shall Burn Part 2.





	Halani

_Cold. So cold. It bites, it burns, scorching skin with white. Heavy head, aching limbs, burning with frozen purpose, forgotten in the need to survive. **Get up, Velen.** You need to get up._

Her eyes snapped open.

Snowflakes glittered in the air above her, the light that shone through the broken timbers overhead too dim to signal the sun. Still night, then. She had not been out of it long enough for night to become day. Velen lay still, trying to recall her last moments of consciousness. She remembered running, hearing the roar of the dragon, the rumbling wall of snow and ice at her back; the blast of frozen air ahead of it lifting her off her feet, tossing her forward. She remembered sharp pain in her back as she struck jutting wood, and the deadening crash of her landing against cold, unforgiving stone.

So ... not dead, then. That was something. Haven buried, no idea where her friends were, no idea where she was, but not dead.

_Not dead, but lost. Frozen, but fighting. Alone, not forgotten. Rise up, Herald of Andraste. Your people need you. The clan needs their Keeper._

She forced her eyes open once more, heaving her leaden form over onto her side. Pain flared, white hot and sharp, radiating up her spine from that point of impact above her backside, painting the still air with the sound of her agonised voice. But pain was good. Pain meant she was still alive, still capable of feeling. Drawing in her breath, she bullied her body into obedience, staggering to her feet to lean against the wall as the pain subsided into a dull throb at her tail. She knew better than to reach back and investigate, instead focusing her attention onto the stone under her hand. It was smooth, worked, not the rough surface of a natural cave or cavern. Though ice clung all around her, she could see signs of carven archways, the cracks of brittle flagstones beneath her feet. _Mythal'enaste,_ she had landed in one of the Chantry's forgotten passageways. Perhaps down here, she could pick up the signs of the Inquisition's flight from Haven, follow their tracks.

_That's it. One foot, then the other. Forget the pain, forget the cold. Keep walking. Fade light to guide your way. He has not lessened you, but made you more._

At least down here, she was safe from the wind she could hear howling above. Creators, what _was_ that thing? A twisted form, but no abomination. A creature of malice and arrogance, so certain in his right to unmake the world. Aspiring to fill a throne he claimed was empty, to rule as a god with fear and pain. No, she would not accept that. She had her gods, the dwarves had the Stone, the humans had their Maker ... no darkspawn from withered Tevinter would ever have their allegiance. He would have to kill her first, and that he had already failed to do. The mark on her hand made her his rival, did it? Then he was going to curse the day she took it from him.

Her foot caught on something soft in the darkness, a cloak, a bundle discarded in terrified flight. They had been here. She had found their path. Drawing the cloak about her shoulders, ignoring the throbbing ache of her back, she tucked it tight, wishing for a staff. She was not out of danger yet. Ahead, she could hear movement - the slithering, bloodless sound of demons drawn through the Veil by the death of Haven.

_Look to the Fade, to the mark that makes you bright. It flares, it stings, it reaches to deliver you. **Let it.**_

Unarmed, she braced herself to fight as despair threatened to suffocate her mind. Three demons, triumphant in the face of her inevitable defeat, reached for her, claws and teeth eager for her blood. She set her feet, prepared to fight to the last breath ... and the mark flared. Agony ripped up the length of her arm, driving her to her knees as green Fade light illuminated the cavern. A rift opened above her, yet demons did not pour out of it. No, _this_ rift latched onto the demons already surrounding her, dragging them back into the Fade in a riot of guttural screams and unearthly howls. And, as suddenly as it had appeared, the rift was gone, taking the light and the pain with it. Velen knelt in the darkness and silence, whimpering in the aftermath of that pain as she cradled her marked hand to her chest. What had just happened?

_Spirits seek you, watch you, guide you. They reach out to help you. Rise up, Keeper. Your clan needs you._

Dragging herself to her feet, Velen staggered to the mouth of the cavern, peering out at the blizzard that raged over the mountainside. The passage of her people, her clan, was still clear, their trail marked by discarded goods, by the bodies of those who had not survived. But she would not survive stepping out into that fierce snowstorm. She'd freeze to death waiting here for it to end, too. It was certain death, no matter what she chose.

_Mamae, what will I do? I am so cold ... We are the last Elvhen. We do not submit, to anything. Even the snow will bend to your will, dahlen, if you learn to conquer it._

Despite the bleakness of her position, Velen laughed at the memory as it forced through her mind. How had she forgotten that? She was Dalish, not some soft city dwell. She knew the elements as well as she knew her own heart. Pushing from the stone, she turned to investigate the cavern. Yes ... they had left a great deal here in their escape, taking only what they needed, only what they could safely carry. A few minutes of painful rummaging, and she had what she needed. Half an hour of even more painful work that made her back scream for mercy, and she was ready to face the elements. A coat beneath her cloak, a fur on top of that, held securely by her belt; a scarf and hood to protect her face and head; fur wraps for her boots, and a couple of small bucklers to serve as snow shoes; gloves too big for her hands, secured with leather thongs at her wrists; and the haft of a forgotten pike for a walking stick. No doubt she looked utterly ridiculous, but so attired, she felt ready to begin her journey through the whirling snow.

_He cannot take from you what you are. Dalish, hunter, traveller, tracker. Guide and protector, life and hope, friend and leader. We are searching for you. **Find us.**_

So into the snow she went, each step agony to the damage in her back, each blast of pain pushing her onward. They would be somewhere above the treeline; Cullen's signal had been sent up when they had reached that relative safety. He would keep them safe in her absence, keep them busy; he would order them to camp and ensure the survival of as many as he could. Keep busy, keep dark thoughts at bay, hold back the darkness for as long as he could. She'd done what he'd asked; she'd found a way. Now she just had to find _him_ , and she would be safe again. Her commander, her friend, her promise of more than just duty in a life she had never looked for.

_Yes. Yes. Each step brings you closer. The pain bites, but you are stronger than its sting. You can endure. You will survive. He waits, he watches, he hopes. He needs you, as you need him._

A wolf's howl called to her in the darkness, stiffening her resolve further. But there were no wolves in these mountains that she knew of. The only wolf who might stalk her now was ... She growled, her breath warming the scarf that covered her nose and mouth. The Dread Wolf stalked the night, taunting this elvhen child, but she would not be tricked. She struggled on, _toward_ the sound of the howl, daring the Trickster to face her. Mythal was her guide, the Mother's mark written in green over her forehead, her vallaslin chosen and endured as one intended to lead. The Dread Wolf could not harm her. She was not afraid.

_He searches for you; he guides you home, his tracks to be your path. You're close now, so close. Come to us, Keeper. We need you._

Blinking her snow-encrusted eyes, she found herself faced with a rocky rise, grey granite soaring from the stark white. Voices on the wind, the sound of pack animals protesting the cold, and there, dark against the snow, the remains of a watch fire, still warm. Hope surged even as she fell to her knees, exhausted by her trek from the darkness below. More voices, closer now. Hands reached to pull her up, lifting her from the snow. _Thank the Maker,_ they declared, and she smiled through the pain. She had found her clan.

**_You are home._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Well, Cole's a challenge to write, isn't he? This was fun, though. Kudos, comments, these make me very happy. The title - Halani - is again sourced from FenxShiral's Project Elvhen, and means help, or assistance.
> 
> Bioware owns it all, I'm just paddling in their goodness.


End file.
